


Chamomile

by aeternamente



Category: The Autobiography of Jane Eyre
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeternamente/pseuds/aeternamente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jane discovers Rochester’s secret, she retreats to the kitchen for comfort.</p>
<p>(I don’t refer in any specific way to what the secret is, but this is still pretty spoilery as far as some future plot points are concerned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chamomile

**Author's Note:**

> When I posted this fic on tumblr, it was [described by matterofawesome as "tea porn."](http://aeternamente.tumblr.com/post/60467946042/matterofawesome-replied-to-your-post-chamomile) What can I say? I love tea, and so does Jane. :)

 

The second stool from the right at the island in Ricardo’s kitchen had become Jane’s secondary sanctuary, aside from her room, of course. She came here often to make tea, waiting at her customary seat while the kettle boiled. Ricardo always kept up a running commentary, talking to his pots and cutlery and sometimes even stray bits of food as if they were wayward children. Sometimes he talked to her, too.

 

She hadn’t really understood how much she loved this kitchen, this stool, Ricardo’s banter, until she faced the very real probability that she would never sit here again.

 

"I should have known—I mean I did know, didn’t I?—It’s never a good idea to date your boss." She buried her face in her hands. "I am…  _such_  an idiot.”

 

Ricardo’s callused hands gently pried her own hands away from her face. “Look at me,” he said. “You are not an idiot. You keep up with that genius daughter of Rochester’s don’t you?”

 

Jane gave a hollow laugh. “I never pretend to keep up with Adele. God, she’s been through so much… I didn’t even realize. I mean, I knew something was going on, but—but I never thought…”

 

"You know what I think?"

 

"What?"

 

"I think you need some chamomile."

 

Jane managed a wisp of a smile. “Thanks, Ricardo, that’s exactly what I need.”

 

Ricardo went to work, filling the kettle, setting it on the stove, and firing the burner underneath. He picked her favorite teacup and saucer from one cupboard, and from another, a small jar, which he raised for her to see. “Fresh dried from the herb garden,” he boasted, shaking the jar so the yellow buds inside made a soft tinkling sound against the glass.

 

Jane listened as the water in the tea kettle began a restless simmer, growing steadily louder, louder. She felt her own confused emotions simmering in her stomach, churning around in sympathetic vibrations to the water in the kettle. Then the noise died down, but Jane knew that this was only the prelude to the full boil. People often assume that the water is done heating when the sound is loudest, a high, tinny sizzle of white noise, but that’s not a real boil; the sound of a real boil begins only after the white noise fades away—a short, deceptive calm that gives way to a low rumble that soon sets the kettle to whistling.

 

A good metaphor for her current state of mind, really.

 

Ricardo snatched the whistling tea kettle from the burner and poured the steaming water over the chamomile and honey in the basket infuser he’d set in her cup, then set cup, infuser, and saucer in front of her, because he knew she would want to watch the chamomile steep.

 

The golden yellow essence of the chamomile leeched out slowly into the hot water. Jane breathed in deeply as the steam bathed her face, its soft, flowery scent as comforting as a warm hug. It calmed her enough to give voice to the dreaded, but inevitable conclusion that had been slowly forming itself in her mind like a gathering storm:

 

"I have to leave," she said. The words came out calmly enough, but the moment she said them, tears began collecting in her eyes, and before she knew it, she was sobbing into Ricardo’s shoulder. She could see it now in her head, like she’d seen it so many times, that sadness, that pained indecision in Edward’s eyes when he looked at her. How she’d wanted to know what was behind it, to find some way to make it better…

 

But now she knew, and she almost wished she didn’t. She knew that her very presence here made everything worse—she couldn’t stay.

 

When she had spent all her tears, Ricardo pulled back with a sigh. “Leave if you must,” he said, lifting the chamomile-filled infuser out of the teacup, “but drink your tea first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I really do drink so much tea that I know the precise progression of sounds you hear as water is boiling. You all know I’m no Rochester apologist, and honestly I’d kinda rather ship Jane with Ricardo, and to hell with all that complex, angsty noise with Rochester. This fic kinda came out of that, though it’s more of a friendship/comfort piece than anything romantic. I left the details of the events leading up to this scene rather vague, because I really have no idea how it’ll be adapted, and maybe I’ll have a chance of not being canonballed this way? Meh, probably not.


End file.
